


back to the hedgerows

by vaudelin



Series: Tumblr fic [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Barebacking, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, Picnics, Rancher Castiel (Supernatural), Rancher Dean Winchester, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 01:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: “The south pasture, right?” Cas murmurs, following the question with another light kiss. Dean nods in lieu of replying. “Good. Maybe I’ll see you there.”“Maybe you will,” Dean mumbles, his wits slow to reboot.Cas flashes that goddamn smile, and Dean’s hooked, his whole day is ruined. He’ll spend his hours counting down until he’s staring at that grin again.





	back to the hedgerows

Two thumps against the stable wall are all the warning Dean gets before a familiar voice comes calling for him. “Is something wrong with Astra?”

Dean shuffles slowly in his wooden seat, turning to face the rancher’s son. He rucks a thumb up beneath the brim of his hat, tipping it up just so before offering the grin that Cas likes, the one that’s got them into a sizeable amount of trouble over the years.

“Nah,” Dean says, “just thinking she has a bruised sole. Wanted to take her out for a ride while I ran the fenceline, but found her limping before we hardly hit the road.” He releases the horse’s foreleg and carefully guides it down to the hay, which Dean had softly bedded in preparation for her care. “We’ll keep her in comfort for a day or two, see if the limp gets any better. Saw her earlier at the far end of the drylot, and there’s some loose rock that likely caused it.”

Cas clicks his tongue, mock-disapproving. “Rocks in the drylot? Better be careful, Mr. Winchester, or you’ll find yourself out of a job.”

Dean snorts. He and Cas both know that if anyone were to blame for the poor terrain, it wouldn’t be him.

Astra winnies, her sore foot held gingerly, and Dean strokes her flank as he eyes Cas over, the way he’s leaning all fake-casual along the top of the stable half-wall. The kid seems more tightly wound than usual, the typical confident slant to his shoulders having retreated up beneath his ears.

Clucking his tongue, Dean trains his gaze back to Astra’s next hoof, checking it over. “Those grants getting to you?”

The heavy sigh behind him confirms Dean’s suspicions. “Just tired of the master’s program already. If it’s not the thesis, then it’s applying for scholarships. Think I’d get the summer away from the paperwork, but no.”

Dean nods, though he doesn’t really know. He casts an eye back Cas’ way, as subtle as he can manage. “Next year you’ll be finished though, right?”

Cas rubs his eyes, slowly bobs his head. “In theory. Then the ops of this whole place will sit squarely on me.” He looks tired, unexpectedly sombre at the thought, but then his smile crooks in just the way Dean likes it, which is all the warning Dean usually gets before trouble comes his way. “I was hoping I’d get a _ride _before heading back in.”

Cas taps his hands in time with his euphemism, and a laugh breaks free from Dean before he can contain it. Cas’ grin grows wider, his stance along the stable wall now sprawling with his confidence. Dean almost feels bad for the way his laugh trails off into a sigh. “Can’t this morning, I’m afraid. Too many miles to ride, and this bum foot has already put me behind.”

Cas pouts, but it’s all play. He simply knows how best to pucker those pink lips to get whatever he wants from Dean. “You saying you’re too tired to attend to your employer’s needs?”

“C’mere,” Dean says, nickering for him, “you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.”

Cas swats at him, but at least his smile has returned. He sways back from the door as Dean rises, exiting the stall, but Cas steps in again almost as quickly, clapping a broad hand across Dean’s ass in an overly playful way. Dean lurches forward, flush against Cas from toes to tits, and he has just enough instinct to lilt his chin in time to meet Cas’ impatient kiss.

The kid is sun-warmed already, soft in a way that belies the cleverness of his mouth. Dean hums into the lips set against his own, wanting to touch Cas but not wanting to sully him with the grit built upon his hands.

“The south pasture, right?” Cas murmurs, following the question with another light kiss. Dean nods in lieu of replying. “Good. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Maybe you will,” Dean mumbles, his wits slow to reboot.

Cas flashes that goddamn smile, and Dean’s hooked, his whole day is ruined. He’ll spend his hours counting down until he’s staring at that grin again.

* * *

With poor Astra on bedrest, Dean saddles up Oleander in her stead. He fits his fencing repair gear into the saddle pockets, takes the chestnut for a ride down the gravel lane, down the grid road a couple miles in the direction of the southern pastures.

The gravel cuts a pale line through the dark green growth of the ditches, where runoff from the latest batch of storms has left enough moisture for the bullrushes to continue sprouting. Beyond the narrow treeline between ditch and fence, the acres here have sat fallow for a long season, the grass growing lush and ready for the cattle that will be grazing here soon enough.

Dean nudges his horse over an approach, crossing down to the ditch, and unhitches the gate wide enough to fit Oleander through. Once inside the pasture, Dean bumps the horse up to a slow trot a few feet out from the fenceline, keeping his eyes trained to the side for regions where the barbwire has come loose. He hops down wherever a post seems to have rotted, and tests the strength of the wood before making a note regarding its location, and how soon he ought to come back and replace it.

It’s tedious work, but pleasant, particularly on these kinds of summer days. These are the days that Dean likes best, where the air is warm but a breeze keeps it from being oppressive, and massive white clouds roll out early in the afternoon, staving the temperature off from tumbling over into sweltering. The miles surrounding him are verdant green, and the lazy thrum of insect life around him lulls Dean into believing, however briefly, that all is well with the world.

He finishes the lot before lunchtime, fixing the last lines of loose wire before rounding Oleander back to where they began. Dean squeezes his knees and coaxes him back up the approach onto the road, and the horse drops into an easy canter as Dean guides them over to the next pasture needing attention.

Dean must lose track of time, because before long he sees another rider, out at a distance, coming his direction.

“Let me guess,” Cas calls as he approaches, Juniper beneath him dropping from a lope to a trot. “You forgot to take lunch again?”

Dean shrugs and pulls a water bottle out from a pouch behind him, taking a sip like it might also sate Cas to see it. A quick swipe of his wrist against his brow tells Dean just how badly he’s been sweating. He takes off his hat and fans himself with it, earning him another one of Cas’ shrewd stares.

“Didn’t come out here just to tell me that,” Dean says casually, dropping his hat back atop his head. “So what d’you want, City?”

Cas rolls his eyes, tugging at Juniper’s lead until she falls in beside Oleander. “Don’t call me that. I grew up here, same as you.”

Dean hums, peacemaking. “Still. Not used to seeing you this time of day without your nose in a book. Thinking of getting your tan back?”

Cas swipes at him, this time only half-playfully. Dean dodges him, and makes to grapple Cas’ wrist, which Cas allows like it’s a stand-in to actually holding hands. Cas mutters something beneath his breath, playing like he dislikes it, but Dean knows him well enough to see the preening pleasure Cas has.

“So,” Dean says, reluctantly letting him go, “did you bring me lunch, or just come out to tease?”

Cas shrugs, digging his heels into Juniper. “Better follow me to find out.”

And with that, Cas takes off without another word, leaving Dean to wonder just what the hell the kid is up to now.

* * *

Dean catches up to Cas about a half-mile out from the home quarter, by the back approach to the property. Dean’s out this way less than he visits the rest of the land; the lot here is overrun, the treeline irregularly weaving away from the typical trim lines of a section. A decrepit barbwire fence runs high and low through the pale grass, left to disrepair decades before Dean started working on the Novak estate. He slows Oleander down and takes to the land carefully, following the meandering trail Cas and Juniper have cut up ahead.

“This was the old homestead,” Cas calls back over his shoulder, pointing to a section of scrub that seems sunken down a half-foot shorter than the surrounding brush. “They knocked the house down, but the foundation’s still there. I used to pick through the debris when I was little, find the broken relics the previous owners had left.”

Dean nods to himself, knowing Cas isn’t telling him this to start some sort of conversation.

Cas takes them deeper into the property, up by where the oldest of the storage sheds sit, which would be the far side of the main quarter Dean frequents. Here, the grass has grown in blonde shades, their tangled nests whipping with the wind around the collapsing boards. Cas stills Juniper and hops down from her saddle, shushing her gently when she whickers. Dean follows suit, dropping down and tying his horse to the same fencepost where Cas has tied his reins.

Sweat beading on his brow, Cas leans in to give Dean a quick kiss. “Follow me.”

Dean wades through the tall grass that Cas directs them through, frog-stepping carefully over the barbwire Cas points out before they disappear into the treeline. The path between the trees has been uncultivated for years, but Dean can see the faint memory of the trail Cas is taking him along, where the low height of the branches above would’ve meant nothing to the child trekking them.

Cas bows and stoops past the occasional poplar, and cuts around lumpy hills comprised of dirt likely moved during the land’s formation, where grass trickles out through rocks picked from the fields. Dean feels a low ache settling into his back by time the treeline breaks ahead of them, and Cas steps out to full height in a small clearing of tall grass, to the side of which stands an ancient barn leaning like a rickety affair.

Dean glances over the satisfied smile Cas is giving, though Cas clearly doesn’t know how open and fond is his stare. Dean murmurs, “What is this place?” and moves closer, cradling one arm low around Cas’ waist as they walk in tandem toward the building.

“Just more ruins,” Cas says, leaning back into Dean. “Another old shed. It was a favorite place of mine to play when I was little.”

Dean hums quietly, running his calloused thumbs up the bare path of Cas’ forearm, imagining all the hours Cas must’ve spent unattended out here. They step inside the gaping maw of the leaning barn shed, the air cooling with the growing shade.

Within, there’s a blanket spread across the black dirt patch in the center of the building, the blanket topped with a couple paper bags and water bottles. Cas unwinds from Dean’s arm but keeps hold of his hand, drawing Dean over until they were both sitting on the blanket.

“Here,” Cas says, unwinding the curled top of one paper bag. “Eat.”

Dean chuckles, accepting the sandwich, prying apart the bread to take a peek at the lettuce and beef inside. “So, a feast for me?”

“And me,” Cas argues, mouth already full with a bite from his own sandwich. “You think I like staying cooped up in that house?”

Dean shakes his head, smiling, but doesn’t disagree. The sandwich tastes better than whatever Dean would’ve mustered, back in the trailer where the farmhands took their breaks. He might’ve even made the same sandwich, maybe, but only Cas could make it taste so good.

“This all you wanted out here?” Dean mumbles through a mouthful, the last bite of his sandwich having already been licked cleaned from his fingers.

Cas hums, looking softly at him. He leans in and kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth, his tongue darting out to a dot of mustard Dean missed when he was wiping clean his face. He stays close even when he pulls back, his breath ghosting across Dean’s cheeks. “Was hoping for that ride you promised.”

Dean sighs, smiling as he closes his eyes. Cas kisses him again, cupping Dean’s neck. Dean touches at Cas like he might break him, his fingers tugging at the loose curls that sweat has formed against Cas’ nape. “Might want to give it to you.”

Cas smiles, peppering Dean with another slow batch of heedy kisses. “Good. But not in here.”

“Too cold,” Dean agrees, rising to match Cas’ pace. Always, always, rising to meet Cas.

Cas gathers the trash while Dean frees the blanket it, shaking it to loosen the dirt from its bottom side. He folds it across his arm and follows Cas to the barn’s back exit, beyond which lies a field of pale grass, and another stone pile built among it.

“The best perch is here,” Cas tells him, climbing partway up the stone pile. Dean takes a seat on a low, flat rock maybe three feet up the pile, wide enough that he can sprawl his legs and let his feet dangle. He bunches up the blanket and sticks it behind his back, angling himself perfectly to stare out at the rolling hills unfolding ahead of him, the pastureland unwinding at a distance.

Cas settles on a rock one up and behind Dean, his hand tucking again into the short hairs at Dean’s nape. Dean accepts the rough touch Cas is giving him, working the knots out from his muscles as Cas likewise stares out at the meandering field.

“Don’t know if I want to own this,” Cas says quietly, after he settles in closer, rubbing Dean’s other shoulder as he thinks.

“It’s what you’re going to school for,” Dean says, muffled, his chin tipped down to his chest.

Cas sighs. “I know. It’s just … different. Working it instead of owning it.”

Dean’s heard this tone of voice before, and often enough to know that if he doesn’t cut Cas off from thinking, he’ll dwell on the subject until he grows morose. Dean reaches up and grabs Cas’ hands, pulling his arms down on either side of Dean’s neck. He tips back his head in offering, and though Cas sighs like the world is ending, he meets Dean with another soft kiss.

Dean lets loose his hold once he’s sure Cas is into it, that he won’t regress back into worrying about what it will mean when his father steps down and Cas becomes the next (excellent, talented, compassionate) owner of the ranch. Cas slides down from his rock, forcing Dean to make room on the stone beside him. He swings a leg over Dean’s leg, pinning Dean’s thigh while Cas makes a slow show of unbuckling Dean from his quickly-tightening jeans.

Cas unbuttons his shirt as Dean releases his belt and slides off his jeans, kicking the clothes into the grass below the rockpile. He kisses Dean as Dean pulls down his pants, rocking from one knee to the other as Dean tugs them off. Cas settles on his lap, now fully bared, and Dean has scarcely a moment to savor the look of Cas out among the wilderness—the sun low but cresting against Cas’ back, ringing him in a halo of ethereal warmth and light—before Cas leans in and begins kissing him, this time more heated and intent.

Dean feels raw, somehow, pinned and exposed beneath the fervency Cas uses to explore him, Cas sliding long fingers over the ridges of his ribs. Dean’s calluses feel extra rough as they glide down Cas’ body, feeling out his shoulder blades, his back, the winged blades of his hips. The curve of his thighs where they thicken to meet his ass.

Cas breaks their kiss with a wet pop, his mouth pulling back red and puffy. He fumbles through the pile of his clothing, comes out with a packet of lubricant, and makes a quick show of rubbing his fingers between his legs until he’s panting, breathless, and leaning back down, guiding Dean inside of him.

Dean groans—he can’t help it, just the feel of Cas so close to him, above and atop and surrounding him—and leans back when Cas presses his hands firmly to Dean’s shoulders, planting himself solidly atop Dean’s hips as he slowly rises and circles his groin. Cas stares down at him, guileless as his body continues to make room for Dean inside of him, his breaths deepening and his pace increasing, the flex of his thighs bringing Cas to greater heights before he slams down again on Dean’s dick.

Dean lets Cas set the pace for them, lets Cas claim whatever it is he wants from Dean. He rubs his palms up the outside of Cas’ thighs, crests his waist, and then runs his knuckles down along the delicate skin between Cas’ legs.

Cas keeps kissing him, or tries to, even when his moans grow more broken, his panting apparent. He bows down over Dean, plants his brow against his hands atop Dean’s shoulders, and whines when the burn in his legs grows too much for him to keep spearing himself open. Dean takes over then, running soothing hands up Cas’ legs, digging his heels into the rock beneath them before unleashing a relentless pace. He meets Cas with deepening thrusts that send Cas’ groans an octave lower, his voice breaking and begging as Dean takes him, fucking up into him as deep as he can.

“Please, please—” Cas keeps gasping, even as Dean buries himself inside of him, his dick throbbing as his orgasm pulses, flooding into Cas. Cas shudders, rutting his cock against the loose tunnel Dean’s formed of his fist, his breath shaking and breaking as he finally spills across Dean’s gut.

Sweat has broken out between them, making their bodies sticky and overwarm wherever they meet. Dean doesn’t mind it much, not when he has this excuse to wrap himself around Cas, tucking the kid’s head beneath his chin as both their breaths slowly settle.

“Fucking finally,” Cas mouths into Dean’s neck, nipping teeth against his throat. Dean grunts despite how he likes it, swatting Cas away from continuing his hickey.

“No marks,” Dean grumbles. “Can’t have the bossman know I’m fucking his only son.”

Though Dean doesn’t see it, he knows that Cas rolls his eyes. “Hey now. Soon you’ll be fucking the bossman himself.”

Dean snorts, wrapping his arm more firmly around Cas. “You really don’t want to run this place?”

The tension creeps into Cas again, just a little. Dean makes a point of kissing Cas’ brow until he stops his subtle worrying. Cas mumbles eventually, “Just don’t like what it means.”

Dean nods, understanding. “Least your parents aren’t dead, just retiring. Your name might be on the corporation, but you know your dad’ll be around to help if you need it.”

“And you,” Cas says.

“And me,” Dean agrees. It’d take wild horses to haul him away from Cas’ side.

Some time of silence, and then Cas sighs and brings himself back into a sitting position. He pats at the sweat cooling on Dean’s chest, his smile growing fond. “C’mon, get dressed. Don’t want to miss supper with your fellow farmhands.”

Dean laughs at that, catching Cas’ hand for a quick kiss brushed against his knuckles. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”

Cas continues to stare with his fond look, his grip tightening in Dean’s hand before reluctantly relaxing. “Thank you for riding out here with me.”

Dean shuffles upright, cupping Cas’ face for a slow kiss. “Thank you for trusting me with this place.”

Cas nods, too quick to be casual. Dean catches the brightness in his eyes before Cas turns away.

“Hey.” Dean reels him back in, palm warm and wide against Cas’ jaw. Into the top of Cas’ hair, Dean murmurs, “You’re going to be amazing. Everyone knows it. And I mean it when I say I’m with you. Whatever happens, I’m here.”

Cas breathes, slowly unwinding. He nods, though his eyes are closed, and cups the hand against his cheek. Dean scoops an arm around Cas and just holds him again.

However long Cas needs him, he’ll be here.

**Author's Note:**

> for the [tumblr prompt](https://vaudelin.tumblr.com/post/185638373693/54-on-mobile-if-you-havent-done-it-already): _“C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.”_


End file.
